


My happiness depends on you and whatever you decide to do

by Blake



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Audition Roleplay, Canon Compliant, Condoms, Humiliation kink, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Name Calling, Praise Kink, Roleplay, Solo Artist Harry, Solo Artist Louis, because apparently that needs labelling these days?, because the story ends, but that's kiwi's fault, daddy - Freeform, like if it wasn't consensual role-play it would be sexual coercion, minor reference to ben winston's dumb tv show, no explicit aftercare, obscure simon cowbell references, oh also light bondage sort of, one minor mpreg reference, radial louies don't interact, sir, so if you're sensitive to sexual harassment stuff tread with caution!, x factor judge louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 14:43:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15512088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blake/pseuds/Blake
Summary: They both know that Louis won’t actually back out of it, as much as he loathes the idea of sitting beside a certain evil man while vulnerable young people suffer the same abuse that Harry and Louis once suffered themselves. As much as Louis will stress about it, his work ethic won’t allow him do anything but make the most of a shitty situation. If Harry asked him not to do it, Louis would call him naive and do it anyway.So Harry won’t ask him not to do it. But maybe he can help him make the most of a shitty situation."I'm here for my audition, sir."





	My happiness depends on you and whatever you decide to do

**Author's Note:**

> The response to my last fic was so inspiring, it caused a flood of new established relationship, kink-negotiation canon one shots. This one is much less angsty, unless you find Louis's TXF appearance to be particularly upsetting. Others are on the way.
> 
> On that note, please pay attention to the tags for content warnings! Thank you so much for reading, if you can!

Harry steps out of the shower, his tired muscles aching as he struggles to keep his balance on the slippery tile. Even his arm feels sore as he rubs his hair dry with a towel. There’s always too much thrumming energy for him to feel pain before and during shows, but it sure as hell sinks in after. “What was that last bit?” he calls through the open door. He heard the whole litany of complaints over the spray of the shower, but the squeaking of the faucet handle as he shut the water off drowned out the sound of Louis’s conclusion.

“I said, at least you’ll be busy anyway, so it won’t be wasted time,” Louis yells from the next room over. He’s over-enunciating his syllables, clearly annoyed, but even when he adds, “Not like you’ll be home or anything,” in a slightly passive-aggressive tone, Harry still knows that he isn’t the target of Louis’s irritation.

“Nope, I’ll be working, same as you,” Harry replies, too tired to get defensive, too happy that Louis’s here in this posh hotel suite somewhere in America, in a city that he can’t remember the name of, despite having said it a dozen times on stage. He’s lazily confident in his statement, fairly sure that he promised to make some ceremonial appearances in LA after his tour. They all have their shitty television shows to be a part of.

“You’ve been _working_ for months, you deserve a break,” Louis counters, not for the first time that night.

Harry shrugs at his reflection in the bathroom mirror as he dabs on the facial moisturizer that he’s not allowed to go a night without. He wishes he could make Louis feel better about the situation. He wishes he could do a stupid _The X Factor_ judge appearance in Louis’s place, knowing full well that it wouldn’t exactly address any of the reasons why Louis has to do it to begin with. He wishes he could offer the purity of completely positive support, but it’s hard for Harry to be touched by those particular demons from their past without feeling conflicted, even if the touch is only indirect because Louis bears the brunt of it.

At the very least, he wishes he could make Louis give himself a break instead of berating himself both for being a part of _The X Factor_ once again and for not wanting to follow through with it, no matter how easy a job it seems on paper.

“You deserve a break, too, all the breaks in the world,” Harry assures him, and he means it. He would still drop everything and move to fucking Siberia if Louis really wanted to. That’s not what they’re doing, though; they all have their shitty television shows to be a part of. “You’ll be such a cute judge, babe,” he adds, trying to redirect their conversation.

It doesn’t work.

Harry brushes his teeth as Louis continues to stress and half-speculate on ways he could duck out of the commitment. He pokes his head through the doorway to look at Louis sprawled out on the duvet in his boxer-briefs and only managing to take up half the bed with his magnificent, slender, powerful body. Harry’s toothpaste starts to drool out the side of his mouth as he watches him, so he turns his creepy stare into a goofy smile around his toothbrush. Only after Louis gives him a smile in return does Harry slip back into the bathroom to spit in the sink.

They both know that Louis won’t actually back out of it, as much as he loathes the idea of sitting beside a certain evil man while vulnerable young people suffer the same abuse that Harry and Louis once suffered themselves. As much as Louis will stress about it, his work ethic won’t allow him do anything but make the most of a shitty situation. If Harry asked him not to do it, Louis would call him naive and do it anyway.

So Harry won’t ask him not to do it. But maybe he can help him make the most of a shitty situation.

Louis sighs in the other room as Harry rolls on some deodorant. He knows what Louis needs. And if he’s honest with himself, even though his muscles are aching and his eyes are drooping, it’s what he needs, too.

When he finally walks out of the bathroom, stark naked and squeaky clean, Louis’s looking down at his phone, all the fight drained out of him. For the sake of giving a convincing performance, Harry tells himself that it’s indifference and boredom, not resignation, that has Louis Tomlinson, _The X Factor_ judge, scrolling idly through World Cup scores.

Harry clears his throat.

Louis glances up without moving his head from its perch on his palm. He’s just lying there on his side like a seductive wood nymph, and it’s so easy for Harry to slip into jittery nerves when he remembers that he gets to _touch_ this wonderful human sometimes and that he somehow has to be a good enough person to _earn_ that privilege.

Harry tightens his fingers where his hands are clasped together behind his back as Louis looks him over. His posture and the fact that he’s not already sliding into bed must be conveying _something_ because Louis’s very clearly appraising the situation before making any move.

“I’m here for my audition, sir,” Harry breathes, flexing his toes in the carpet.

The _sir_ means something. They have a sort of code of permission, of consent, and _sir_ means _I’m emotionally capable of being punished and degraded_. Nine days out of ten, Harry isn’t emotionally capable because it means not having constant, warm reassurance that he’s doing a good job. He _is_ almost always ready to be dominated, used, tied up, hurt, reduced to a nonverbal mess, embarrassed, teased, and tortured—as long as Louis is sweetly praising him the whole time, promising him that there are ways for him to earn Louis’s good opinion back.

Today, Harry doesn’t need the praise. And he suspects that Louis craves a cathartic outlet for the impending emotional turmoil of having to judge people as harshly as he was once judged.

“Not really dressed the part,” Louis observes mildly, his words muffled from the way his face rests on his hand. His eyes remain inscrutable, his voice somewhere between passive agreement and a question.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry mumbles, bowing his head to look at the floor and also, incidentally, at his cock, which will probably never fail to show interest when he’s standing naked beneath Louis’s scrutiny. “I didn’t have anything nice to put on.”

When he glances up, Louis’s toying with the duvet cover, pinching threads of it and releasing them without even looking. “Well, what is it that you’re going to sing for us?”

Harry’s breath hitches. He may have started this scene, but he didn’t know whether _sir_ was going to ask for a vocal performance or for him to turn around and spread his cheeks. It would have been thrilling either way. Whatever will make Louis feel good. “You want me to sing?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Louis’s voice cascades down Harry’s spine like so much soothing, warm water. His heart breaks open, so in love is he with this treasure of a boy who speaks so sweetly even when he’s being called _sir_. “It’s a singing competition, love, what else would I want from you?”

Louis hasn’t moved, but he’s looking up at Harry with such softness in his face, with the sparkle in his eyes that he gets when Harry laughs at his jokes.

And Harry feels so silly for assuming that Louis wanted to play at being strict in the first place. Nine days out of ten, Harry doesn’t get off on being degraded, in part because nine days out of ten, Louis doesn’t get off on degrading him. _Of course_ Louis would be the kind, understanding judge, even during sexual roleplay. Harry’s heart truly feels flooded with how much he loves this man, with how _embarrassed_ he is that he had such crude expectations, with how _good_ it feels to have his embarrassment regarded so fondly by Louis, who’s smiling up at him like he can read his every thought.

“C’mere, give us a hug,” Louis says, sitting up and lazily lifting his arms halfway into an embracing position. Harry falls forward into those arms and squeezes Louis around the middle, dropping to his knees and almost getting lost there as he breathes in the clean scent of Louis’s hair and sweat. “You’ll do brilliantly, no need to be nervous,” Louis whispers, patting one hand over Harry’s shoulder blade in a friendly manner.

Then, even quieter, “I can punish you some other time, yeah?” Because Louis asks for Harry’s consent to _not_ be spit on and insulted. Because he can tell that Harry probably wants it on some level and is projecting that desire onto Louis. Because one day out of ten, Louis likes to be _sir_ , but today is not that day.

Harry steals a wet kiss from the side of Louis’s neck as he pulls back from the embrace, feeling scandalous for stealing a kiss from a judge, for crossing that professional boundary. Louis raises an eyebrow, and Harry feels ashamed in a way that makes his cock twitch. “Yes, of course,” Harry agrees, trying to battle his ecstatic smile. It’s hard because he feels like the luckiest person in the world, and he hasn’t even won his audition yet.

“You can stand over there...now sing us a song.”

Trying not to stumble, Harry gets back on his feet to stand by the wall, his hands clasped behind his back once again. He doesn’t want to keep Louis waiting, so he launches into one of the songs that’s stuck in his head, which is inevitably one of the songs he performed just a couple of hours prior.

“ _She worked her way through a cheap pack of_ —”

Louis’s hand shoots into the air, palm forward, and Harry obediently stops. He didn’t even make it through one line of his audition song, and he’s already failed to satisfy Louis. His cock flexes, so eager to prove that it can please.

Louis’s mouth bunches up on one side before it opens again. “Can’t you sing something a little less...overdone?” Harry bites his lip, hungry for direction. “Maybe something, I dunno, softer? Think it might suit you better,” Louis finishes, scratching the inside of his ear as though Harry injured him by being too loud.

Harry gets so deep into their scenes so quickly that he feels desperate to come up with the right song to please his judge. He straightens his spine and sings, “ _Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, Jolene, I’m begging of you, please don’t take my man_.”

He watches Louis for any small clue of how he’s doing as he goes, and he gets halfway through the song this time before Louis reaches up to scratch his ear again, his eyes casting to the side in a way that indicates displeasure.

Harry stops singing. “What am I doing wrong? What can I do better, sir, please?” Harry pleads, never afraid to sound as desperate as he feels.

Louis leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, still not quite looking Harry in the eye. “Well,” he teases as Harry fidgets for a torturously long moment before he continues, “it’s kind of...difficult to take you seriously when your prick is standing at attention.”

It’s a bit of an exaggeration, Harry knows, because he’s not _that_ hard, not _distractingly_ hard, anyway—at least not until the shame of Louis’s words hit him, and _then_ he’s distractingly hard. “Sorry,” Harry gasps as Louis finally gives him a good, thorough look.

“It’s just,” Louis goes on, seemingly unfazed by what’s standing before him, “well, it makes me think that you aren’t taking this singing thing seriously. Like, maybe you’re just an exhibitionist, not a musician.”

He sounds dreadfully serious, like he sincerely thinks that Harry isn’t respecting his time. “No, I swear, I am,” Harry protests, his voice getting tangled in phlegm in his haste.

“An exhibitionist?”

Harry’s toes grip the carpet in frustration. “No, m’serious about music...wanna do well.”

Louis meets his eyes just to examine him with amused doubt written all over his face. Eventually, his expression softens into a smile, like he can’t help giving lost causes a second chance, and Harry soaks up the feeling of being _his_ lost cause, of being loved regardless.

Louis leans back, propping his weight up with his hands on the bed behind him. “Maybe you should kneel...would that help you stay focused?”

Harry can’t help licking his lips, but then Louis licks his lips, too, as Harry slides down to his knees in a very, very well-practiced move, his hands still behind his back. Going down very obviously has the opposite effect on his arousal, but his own erection is very easy to ignore; he’s become an expert at that. Instead, his focus is on Louis’s cock, which is gently tenting the front of his pants just a couple of feet away, mouthwateringly close.

“You can start from the top,” Louis encourages as Harry fights the shiver that tries to erupt in him at the thought of wrapping his lips around the very tip of Louis’s crown. _Start from the top, work your way down,_ slowly feeding it inch by inch into his mouth

That’s not what Louis’s talking about.

“ _Jolene, Jolene...,”_ Harry sings until he’s stopped again, silenced by the flick of Louis’s wrist.

“That’s great, love, you’re doing great, just…,” Louis trails off, and Harry feels like his fate lies in the words that are being kept from him. He doesn’t want to be great, he wants to be _perfect_.

He fidgets on his burning knees, trying to be patient under Louis’s rueful, pitying smile, and finally, Louis says, “You’re _so_ emotive.” It sounds like a compliment for a moment, during which hope bubbles terribly high in Harry’s chest, but then, gently, “It’s, well, it’s _embarrassing_ , really. It’s too much…like, everyone can see it, can tell how pathetically in love with this man you are, how much you’d let him walk all over you.”

And Harry whines involuntarily at that, it’s overwhelming all at once. Louis _knows_ how much he gets off on having his love for Louis be pitifully transparent, like he’s branded with it. It’s a good thing that Louis instructed him to kneel because his knees would have given out.

“Could you tone it down slightly?” Louis suggests, as though he’s truly committed to helping Harry give the strongest performance possible.

“I can… try,” Harry offers.

“Do you need help doing it?” Louis asks, his voice slightly short of breath, a sound that always makes Harry’s heart flutter because it means that he’s doing a good job.

He nods, looking into Louis’s hot blue eyes, which are honed in on Harry’s mouth. Louis’s hands flicker in the air for an uncertain instant before lightly landing on Harry’s face, one cupped beneath his ear, the other holding the back of his skull. There’s one thumb against his windpipe and another against the tense hinge of his jaw. “Try singing like this.”

Eager to comply, Harry tries to open his mouth to start the verse over again, but Louis’s hands keep his mouth from opening wide, and the constraint of his attempted movement is accompanied by a visible spurt of wetness where Louis’s hard against the front of his pants because _Louis thinks he looks good like this, Louis thinks he feels good like this, Louis thinks he’s good_.

Any words Harry was going to sing get dampened by an overwhelmed sob. He swallows deeply just to feel the pressure of Louis’s thumb tracking the movement.

“That’s it, try again,” Louis murmurs, hoarse around the edges. Harry shuffles forward on his knees to get closer to the heat that’s radiating from Louis’s cock, and he sags lower to feel the pressure of Louis’s hands physically holding him up. “I’ll keep you from being too much. Nobody wants that.”

Harry’s eyes roll back in his head as he tries again to grind out the words, “ _I had to have this talk with you, my happiness depends on you and whatever you decide to do_.” He stops short, in need of some breath, which is hard to find with Louis’s hands cradling his jaw tightly enough to prevent him from opening his mouth wider than an inch. And Harry has a very big mouth, he’s used to using all of it, he was _trained_ to use all of it. Being prevented from doing so is like having his thighs tied together, makes him feel safe, frustrated, slutty, and innocent all at the same time. It goes to his head a little, makes him dizzy.

“Go on,” Louis commands, his voice still sweet and encouraging, not at all hard like the stiff demand of his cock, which Harry can’t help stealing glances at.

Harry tries singing the chorus, but he lapses into humming, and his humming falters on the high notes because his voice was spent even before he left the stage a few hours ago.

“Harry,” and there’s a wavering in Louis’s voice that could either be disappointment or apology. Harry looks at his face and finds a combination of both, but the stroking of Louis’s thumb across his jawline has a condescending spark to it.

“I’m sorry,” Harry croaks. “I’ll try again.”

Louis shakes his head, studying him with consideration. “I really wanted you to do well,” he says, so tenderly that it feels like betrayal.

“Just let me...I can sing something else,” Harry pleads, burning with arousal. It feels so good to sink into this familiar feeling, to tap into the memory of having his entire future in someone else’s hands but with the utter warmth and safety of knowing that it’s _Louis_ whose delicate, attentive fingers hold his fate.

“Don’t beg, Harry, it’s unbecoming.”

Harry groans, his eyes sliding shut again as he sinks lower toward the ground in some futile search for friction.

Louis’s merciless: “I want to put you through to the next round, but what if you embarrass me?” Harry gulps, face drifting blindly forward to where Louis’s hottest, where he can _feel_ it. “What if you don’t perform well, and everyone can tell that I only put you through ‘cos you’re pretty?”

Harry’s hands, which he had almost completely forgotten about, slip free from their sweaty clasp and dig into Louis’s upper thighs to brace himself from falling. He smiles, losing the scene for a moment. He loves when Louis calls him _pretty_. And he loves Louis’s thighs.

“Please?” Harry asks, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too widely. He’s rewarded with Louis’s hands abandoning his jaw to grab his damp hair, fingers combing through the strands to scratch at his scalp. “I’ll do anything,” Harry sighs, calmed down so much that his smile naturally fades. He gathers the fortitude to look coyly up from under his lashes and lick his lip before promising, “I’m really good with my mouth.”

Louis’s jaw clenches. He may be incredibly good at maintaining control, but Harry’s mouth has always been his weak spot. “Your recent performance would suggest otherwise.”

Harry bobs forward until Louis’s clutch in his hair is the only thing holding him upright. He makes eye contact with Louis’s straining cock, silently promising to free it from its villainous confines, and then he licks his bottom lip, so ready to caress the weight of Louis’s hot shaft. “I promise,” he whines.

His hands inch up Louis’s thighs until he’s kneading into the tendinous flesh at the junctures at either side of his groin. It takes a full minute before Louis gives in with a grunt. “You’d better not disappoint me again,” he chides, voice harsher than ever as he stands up just enough to shove his pants down, brushing Harry’s hands aside in the process. As he plops back onto the bed in front of Harry, his cock bobs deliciously against his thigh, and Harry reaches and wraps his hand around the shaft, helpless to stop himself.

The only thing keeping him from sinking his mouth down to meet his hand is the grip of Louis’s left hand in his hair.

“Remember what I said about being _too much_? Don’t want to embarrass yourself, do you?”

Harry's hips swivel forward in desperation, his knees spreading wider and twisting, his cock grazing weakly against the frilly bed skirt. He exhales through his nose, grounding himself in the steady weight of Louis’s shaft filling the circle of his hand.

“Okay,” Louis breathes, thrusting ever so slightly into Harry’s hand, letting Harry’s fingertips reach to brush his balls. Harry tries so hard to keep it together because Louis is about to let him _try_. “Take it from the top.”

Harry’s in heaven as he wraps his lips around the crown of Louis’s cock, sucking it clean and wet with his tongue sweeping greedily under the part of his foreskin that hasn’t receded. He just loves mapping out every single millimeter, feeling the soft muscle of his tongue mold around the contours, tasting what leaks out from the hot slit.

“Hey,” Louis hisses, tugging Harry off him with the grip in his hair.

Harry swallows down the saliva he’s practically drowning in; Louis just tastes so good. His vision is a little blurry, but he thinks he sees Louis biting the inside of his cheek, the way he does when he’s holding back. “So desperate,” Louis grits out. “Nobody likes that.” Harry pulls on his fistful of cock and stretches out his tongue, trying to reach, doing nothing to dispute Louis’s argument. “Just...take it slow.”

Harry’s mouth floods in gratitude as Louis apparently gives in, letting him bring his mouth to close around his cock once more. He tries to go slowly, he really does. He wants to do what he’s asked.

With a sloppy, wet grip of his lips, he slides down, so _slowly_ , until he’s kissing his own fist, but it’s excruciating because his mouth is so hot with how full it is, and he’s terribly aware of how Louis’s watching every micromovement. It’s what Louis always does, as if Harry’s mouth holds the secrets to the universe.

Drunk on the buzz of Louis’s eyes on him, Harry suckles gently on his mouthful, twisting his hand around in his desperately pooling spit, tracing the flat of his tongue up and down the swollen vein on the underside of Louis’s cock, nearly choking himself on his own tongue on the upstroke.

“Too much,” Louis warns, even though Harry can tell it’s _not_ too much. He can tell when he’s applying too much pressure, when he’s sucking too eagerly. He can feel it in the almost demure stillness in his mouth, and that’s not what he feels now. Louis’s perfect and surging and hot in his mouth, and Harry’s making him feel _good_. Frustration crinkles his brow as he softens the grip of his mouth just slightly, just enough to make it clear that he can take direction.

Apparently it’s not enough because Louis’s hands resume their clutch at either side of his jaw, cradling it just so, keeping it from opening as widely as it longs to open.

“There you go.” The words make Harry groan, as does the strain of stretching his jaw against the restriction of Louis’s touch. It’s not like he can just clamp down; Louis will get annoyed if he uses his teeth.

With no hand in his hair, Harry’s free to slide his mouth up and down Louis’s length, so he lets his palm flatten against Louis’s groin, the heel of his hand offering pressure against his balls while his thumb and forefinger cradle and position his shaft, holding it at the perfect angle for Harry to sink down and take it all the way. His other hand flattens on Louis’s waist, clutching the curve of fluttering muscle for strength.

“You’re doing great, Harry,” Louis praises, breathlessly. Harry starts bobbing his head up and down, ceding to the ache in his jaw, trying to focus on the tightening flesh against his palm that says he really _is_ doing well. He has a cramp in his thigh from the awkward angle that he’s holding, and he can’t feel his feet anymore, but if Louis gave him permission to touch himself, he could come in ten seconds. He’s so easy for Louis, such a slut for making Louis feel good.

Louis’s flesh starts jiggling under his touch as he starts thrusting his hips in tight circles. “Just so sloppy, so eager...easy, just let me fuck it.” Harry tries to breathe through the effect that Louis’s words have on him, tries to let his mouth go slack in the shape of Louis’s palms, hollowed out by the cock thrusting inside. “You’re so embarrassing, every night, going out there and singing about having my baby, Harry—”

And then Louis’s hips lift fully up off the bed, thrusting into the back of Harry’s throat just how he likes it, a few thick slides deeper past his lips before he’s coming. Harry whines, blind and dizzy with the white that’s filling his mouth, with the quivering of flesh on his tongue, between his lips, against his palm.

Louis pulls free of Harry’s mouth and releases his jaw, leaning back on one hand and looking down at him. He’s panting, and the glisten of sweat between the hairs on his chest isn’t making it any easier for Harry to swallow until his mouth feels clean and empty again.

Exhausted, Harry drops his head forward onto the firm pillow of Louis’s spread thigh. He extends his own cramped thigh out behind him, sighing in relief as he grazes his teeth over the hairs on Louis’s leg. He’s definitely still delirious from being painfully hard and probably still quite subspacey when he jokes, “Looks like I got...the _part_ ,” as he winks stupidly at Louis’s spit-wet cock.

Louis very nearly kicks him in his desperate need to flail away from such a horrid joke. He ends up sprawled out on the bed, flat on his back with his arms splayed behind his head like he’s about to do crunches, his abs tensing invitingly. Harry helps himself to licking his way across them on his way up to Louis’s ribcage.

“Good enough to put you through the next round, anyway,” Louis teases, and Harry pushes his smile into the sternum that’s heaving beneath him. If he lowers his hips just a touch, he could get the soft part of Louis’s thigh right where he needs it. “If you’re up for a next round, that is.”

The suggestion of _another round_ makes Harry’s hips take the plunge, clamping down on Louis’s thigh and pressing deeply into the blissful pressure on his cock. Louis laughs as he moans in a way that promises he could truly, actually get hard again in the near future.

“Do you fuck like you sing ‘Jolene’?” Louis asks, perhaps a little delirious himself, high on the power of making Harry crazy.

Harry immediately drops his hand between Louis’s thighs, spreading him open with his fingers and gently probing like he’s testing to see if Louis’s ready. He’s not, of course, so he kind of squirms away. But Harry can get him ready; he can do a good job.

Louis half sits up to demand a kiss, and the arms wrapping around the back of Harry’s head are almost as dreamy as the soft, knowing precision of his kiss. Harry pushes deeper into Louis’s mouth, probably embarrassing and desperate, but he gets Louis’s head pressed into the mattress before he pulls back to say, “Yes, sir.”

Louis laughs at him, and that’s okay. Harry’s in love with the fact that they can swim in and out of scenes like different depths of a swimming pool, clutching each other fiercely the entire time. He just loves Louis so much. “You’re really brave,” he whispers sincerely between wet, suctioned kisses, struck by how amazing the love of his life is. “For going back, I mean.”

Louis slides free of their kiss only to place his lips softly at the joint of Harry’s jaw, the spot where his thumb was so harshly digging in before. “So are you,” he says to Harry’s cheek, bringing his hands together to pull Harry’s hair in just the right way. Every night, Harry feels the dual phantom weight and phantom weightlessness of picking up that heavy, liberating flag, and he feels absolved of all phantoms every time Louis holds him like this and lets him know.

But Harry still hasn’t come, and it’s a little overwhelming to process anything but the rewarding heat of the body beneath his and the fact that Louis thinks he did a good job. He makes a keening sound, rutting higher and higher up into the softest part of Louis’s thigh, his hip probably doing no favours for Louis’s spent, probably still oversensitive, cock. “Get those fingers in me, love,” Louis requests. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry grins, sitting up and back on his heels. “Let me properly _dress the part,_ ” he winks down at his bare cock before getting to his feet, fighting the haze in his mind to remember where he stashed his condoms. Something soft hits him between his shoulder blades, and he looks down to see Louis’s pants on the floor at his feet.

Louis, looking as innocent as he ever looks (which is not very innocent at all), spreads his thighs out wider on the bed and points to the vanity, where condoms and lube are waiting in plain sight.

When Harry flops down on top of him a moment later, Louis keeps him at arm’s length as he says, “Harry, I have something important to tell you.”

Using the distance to get the condom out of its wrapper and onto his dick with a hiss, Harry asks, “What?”

Louis puts a single finger over Harry’s mouth and tells him, “I never, _ever_ need to hear your weird, green fruit song, not ever again.”

Harry kisses the finger out of habit as Louis rolls his eyes, and says, “At least I’ve got the _X Factor.”_


End file.
